


Wishing I was somehow here again

by Dino_Cattivo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesia fic, Angst, Investigations, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:55:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dino_Cattivo/pseuds/Dino_Cattivo
Summary: He didn't know. He didn't know what to do. How to act or react. In fact, he knew nothing. Nothing at all. It was all...gone. There was only a thumping headache where once memories were. Only pain when he tried to remember, which made him want to curl up and scream into the pillows he had woken upon.~Bruce has lost his memories. With no other choice he now is is trying to find out as much about his old self as possible and figure out why the public opinion don't match his own findings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much [crypt_mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt) for alpha and beta reading this for me. When I started this I was very unsure about this and didn't even knew if I should continue working on this. So it was really helpful to get more opinions about it and helped my a lot in what direction I wanted to go and what I should change.

_ What would you do when you have lost yourself? When everything you were and everything you knew was lost? When there was nothing left to rely on? Nothing left of you? Would you move on and try to live your life the best way you could? Or would you try to go back and look for pieces of your old self? _

He didn't know. He didn't know what to do. How to act or react. In fact, he knew nothing. Nothing at all. It was all...gone. There was only a thumping headache where once memories were. Only pain when he tried to remember, which made him want to curl up and scream into the pillows he had woken upon.

It had only been 10 minutes since he had opened his eyes for what felt like the first time. Everything had been white. White white white. He had immediately shut his eyes again, irritated by the brightness. He had known nothing and that had been even more bothersome than the harsh light. He had wanted there to be at least something, anything at all. So he had cracked his eyes open again. Carefully, slowly blinking until the luminosity didn’t burn anymore. Then he had finally been able to see.

Only for a white ceiling to greet him.

At this moment he’d decided he hated all the white. It was easy enough. There was white everywhere. It caused him discomfort while it told him nothing about the situation. So he decided to resent it.

When he sat up, there was agony. His body ached and he felt sore all over. He gritted his teeth determined to get away from the white ceiling and to look at anything else. He only got a fuzzy glimpse of the room before he had to fling himself sideways to hurl over the side of the bed. He didn’t want to dirty the sheets. The floor would be way easier to clean after.

_ Why would he remember something like this? Why could he recall something so useless but not his own name? _

He dry-heaved some more until his body finally decided it was enough and there was nothing left to get rid of. There was still nausea and he didn't want to move. He felt weak and exhausted. His limbs trembled.

That didn’t stop him for long. He could look around. His vision was still fuzzy and he blinked to get the blurry image to clear up, but to no avail. So he tried to make out the forms around him. He could make out the vague shapes of a window wavering a bit when his body swayed unsteadily. It was the source of the brightness which made the pain hammer inside his skull. So he looked away again.

The sheets his fingers had clawed into were also white. He looked in wonder at the intravenous line going from his hand to some drip beside him and at the fluid within. Besides the infusion was a screen with fast moving lines on it, keeping track of his heart rate. They made his world spin and he couldn't help but make a pained groan. It made _ noises _. Such loud noises. There was this constant beeping in his head now and it made him want to crawl out of his skin.

So he tried to stop it. His hand moved in the direction of the device. It took a greater effort than it should to pass the small distance. When his hand finally came down to stop the torture, he missed.

Instead, he hit some other cables, pulling at them. The equipment they connected to moved a bit closer and then he felt a tug at his chest. It didn't hurt as much as the headache but it was still painful and then it was gone. He dropped the wires, plus some diodes previously connected to his skin. They got sluggishly dragged from the sheets by gravity and hit the floor.

He wouldn’t have cared, if not for the loud ear-shattering beeeeep ringing out instantly. It hurt hurt hurt. He curled up into himself and pressed hands over his ears, trying to stop it. Trying to get peace, but it didn't stop. 

He whimpered.

Then it was quiet. He stayed in his position a few seconds longer, not trusting the noise to be completely gone. When it stayed quiet, he took his hands off his ears and opened his eyes again. He looked at someone. He didn't know her. But she had stopped the dreadful noise, so she must be nice. He already liked her.

“Mister Wayne? Mister Wayne? Are you with us?”

He fixed his gaze at her in confusion. _ What did she want? What was Mister Wayne? It was a name, right? Was that his name? Wayne? _ It sounded...strange. He didn't feel like a Wayne. _ But what did he know about how being a Wayne should feel like? _

His answer must have taken too long. The next thing he knew was her being all over him, touching and poking, and he hated it. She shone a bright light into his eyes, put the cold metal of a stethoscope on his skin, making him shiver. Stopping the noise didn't make up for this.

“Any symptoms besides nausea? Headache? Dizziness?”

He never got the chance to answer because then the others came. A flood of people started filling the room, each one noisier than the last. They talked, touched him, shone light into his eyes again and started cleaning up the floor. Worst of all they tried to put the diode back. Everyone frantically moving around making his blurry vision spin even more. Then the beeping was back.

It was too much. So many noises, sensations, colors. His vision faded in and out and his ears were ringing, silence, ringing, silence. Then there was nothing.

~ ~ ~

When he came back to conscious it was better. Less noise, less light, less people, less discomfort. He liked less. Less was good.

When the fact that there was less didn't change he deemed it safe to sit up. This time it was much easier to get in an upright position. He noticed the room had changed. The blinds shut, with only a soft glow shining through the cracks. Most of the monitors were gone. The vomit had disappeared. There was a chair beside his bed now.

He looked at the person sitting in the chair. A woman. Only watching him. She had a white coat and her hair was up in a bun.

“Bruce.”

_ Huh? _ So that's his name. Bruce...Bruce Wayne. At least he remembered being called Mr. Wayne the last time he was awake. That was fine. He didn't mind being a Bruce Wayne.

“Bruce, there was an...incident last week. Do you remember what happened to you?”

He paused and thought if this awoke some memories, then he answered truthfully.

“Nothing.”

“So you don't remember the incident leading to you being in the hospital?”

So he was in the hospital. Figures. All the white, smell of disinfectant and the nurses examining him had kinda given it away. But his mind had been in a jumble before and he hadn’t been able to have a clear thought. Now, on the other hand, it was easy. He looked around the room and things fell into place.

Single room. Private. Nice furniture, and big tv— money was involved.

“Which hospital?”

It was important to find out where he was. He couldn’t put his finger on why this was but he had this restless itch.

“Gotham General? A private room. You have been here before.”

She frowned at him. Justified. If he had been here before it would be unusual to not recognize the building. With ‘here’ being suspicious anyway, he could come clean.

“I remember nothing. At all. Not the incident. Or anything else. It is all gone.”

She paused and took a deep breath. Her eyes completely focused on him looking for something. Then she shook her head and took another deep breath.

It didn’t help. Bruce could see the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her hands twitching in her laps, where till now they had calmly rested.

“A-are you sure? Absolutely sure? That's important Bruce: Think! Is there anything? Anything at all.”

He would have thought hard anyway even without the urgency in her voice, after all, she had been quiet for him. He wished he could give her something more than the emptiness inside. He didn’t want to see the distress in her eyes for some reason. _ It felt...wrong? _

Despite being a blank space he didn’t want to unsettle this woman. An interesting development. _ Was he an empathic person? Would he react this way no matter who he faced? Or did he have a more profound relationship with the woman which made him care for her? _Her use of his first name and her powerful reaction to his condition indicated such.

This would need further investigation.

“There is nothing outstanding. I know about hospitals. I don’t know about Gotham, but I’m assuming that’s the name of the city or state. No memories of personal events. Or you in that respect. I hate light and noise. Especially noise.”

She laughed at that. It sounded wet and broken. She rubbed over her eyes.

“That’s just you. You hate a lot of things, including hospitals. After the hit you took to the head last week, you were rushed here and unconscious ever since. The headache will abate soon, but if it is not gone in the next hour we can increase the pain medications. For your amnesia, we will need further test to determine how to proceed.”

“Retrograde amnesia is caused by head trauma or brain damage,” he recited. “Inflicted to parts of the brain besides the hippocampus. Episodic memory is more likely to be affected than semantic memory. So autobiographical events are more likely to be forgotten than general world knowledge.” He frowned, as more words came to him. “It is temporary in most cases. Recent memories are less likely to be recovered. Older memories will be easier to recall due to strengthening over time.”

He didn't know from where he took this information, but it seemed true enough. So he said it. Apparently, it had been the wrong thing to say. At least with the way she looked at him now: her mouth slightly open, barely covered by a hand. Her eyes full of sorrow and red, almost as if she had been crying before. He didn’t like what he saw. No one was supposed to cry because of him.

He didn't know what to do or how to act. His medical knowledge had been profound seconds ago. His interpersonal abilities were still compromised. Or he didn’t have them in the first place. Both options were possible. With no clue on how to act, he waited and study her. Her disheveled looking clothes hadn’t been changed in a room between seventeen to twenty-six hours. Most likely she’d spent a fair portion of that time here, at the hospital with him. And she did so without much sleep at least if you trusted the dark circles under hair eyes.

After nearly a minute the shaking in her hands lessened and her breathing settled into a normal pattern. She had finally calmed down.

“My name is Leslie Tompkins,” she said. “I've been your house doctor for years. Because of this, I'm here to oversee your hospital treatment.”

“Could be better. Less noise and light would be nice..”

She nodded at his complaint.

“The rest of the hospital staff is not yet aware of your amnesia. This is the first you’ve been conscious enough to talk. Even with it being most likely a temporary condition, they’ll still need to be informed. I’m no specialist in this area, but in my personal opinion it is most important you give yourself time. Let the memories return naturally. I know patience is usually not your strong suit. But forcing a reaction could prolong your recovery.”

Well, at least that answered another question as to his personality.

“Small things like names shouldn’t cause you any problems and will help you adjust. Stay away from everything that could forcefully trigger a memory. If you suddenly get intense headaches, remove yourself from the situation. Inform the people around you about it.” With another reassuring, yet sad glance, she stood. “If you’ll excuse me now, I will inform the doctors and warn your children. They were kicked out when you woke up because they got in the way of the staff. But I’m sure they are still around. Probably took the chance to grab some food until they are allowed back in.”

“Wait, I have kids?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also alpha and beta read by [crypt_mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt). Thank you so much again for helping me

As it turned out, he had several kids. At least the room started to fill with people after the door had been thrown open with so much force it hit the wall. They were all speaking over each other, rushing to reach the bed first. Bruce had to force himself to stay still in bed and not jump up. His fists had automatically clenched, and he forced them to relax. They were his kids after all... and not a danger.

A cough stopped all the movement in the room abruptly. Bruce leaned a bit to the side. He hoped to see the person who had been able to stop the whole jumble with such a simple exhortation.

All the more surprising was it to see an elderly man standing in the door. He wore a well-tailored tailcoat, high quality but well worn: his usual wear then, nothing he’d brought out for the special occasion. The man’s stance was upright, his hands clasped behind his back: military training. Not as strictly as someone still being in the army. So he was retired.  _ Maybe a bodyguard? _

The room Bruce was in spoke of his family being well-off. This man’s clothes spoke of more than a house helper or other servant. There had to be more to it than a simple employee. The man looked worn out. There was a crack in his composure when he looked at Bruce, and his eyes softened.

“Ah Master Bruce. It is good to see you up again. The young Masters and Misses have begun to get worried about you.”

Master, not Mister. Master: a British term, used to politely address a boy too young to be called Mister. He must have known this man since his childhood, then. It was still strange with Bruce’s approximated age to be called after in that way.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I have been the butler of the Wayne family for many years.”

“Ah, come on Alfred - you are our Grandfather!”

So he had an emotional bond with his children strong enough to make him part of the family.

The boy who had spoken up seemed to be the oldest of the... children, if you could still call people of their age that. His clothing style was questionable, with mismatching colors. The bright colors were a stark contrast to the dark bags under his eyes, the red rimming around them and the unkempt hair. Bruce’s condition must have affected him. 

“H-hey….um. I guess I should introduce myself?” the boy said. “My name is Dick. That’s short for Richard.”

_ How could he have named his kid like that? How did one even come from Richard to Dick?  _ With no one blinking an eye at the name, Bruce had to accept it.

“I’m your eldest so I moved to Bludhaven, the neighbours city, a while back for work. But for now I’m totally staying at home with the rest to help out. And we are like absolutely fine and keep everything running until you are back to the game. I even got all of your late night activities covered. So there is truly no reason for you to worry and rush your health. Leslie was very explicit about it and she is kinda scary so I don’t want to end up on her bad side. But I miss you. We all do. Without you it just don’t feel the same at home. So please get better soon, B.” 

Even with him trying to smile it was obvious how distressed he was. The smile was so forced it looked almost painful. It was easy to see the wet eyes and the tears he swept away when he thought no one was looking.

There was a heavy weight on Bruce’s chest when he looked at Dick like that. He couldn’t explain it.  _ Why did he have to forcefully stop himself from reaching out and drawing the boy into his arms? _ Or he could but, it was quite simple. This was his kid. Someone he had cared for deeply before he forgot all about it. So deeply it was now a part of him beyond memories alone. This made it even more painful. Because Bruce knew he should love the boy. The lump in his throat was a constant reminder of it. But when he tried to grasp for memories he reached into nothing.

This was the first moment when he felt bothered and realized how much he had truly lost. Before it had been an inconvenience but he could have managed. Now seeing how much it pained the people around him, he wished he could remember. If not for himself then for their sakes.

He couldn’t keep looking at Dick so he focused on the boy standing beside him. He was small, almost fragile looking and pale. Didn’t spend much time outside and should eat and sleep more.  _ Was Bruce a bad parent? _ After all, he could have minded his kid’s health more. The blue eyes fixed on him were big and a clear blue. Also wet and red-rimmed.

The boy looked like he was about to talk but thought better of it closing his mouth again. Then he started chewing on his lips. A nervous habit perhaps. At least he didn’t seem to notice even when there was red smearing his lips. Bruce addressed him in hope to stop it.

“And who are you?”

Bruce instantly regretted speaking up. He didn’t know if it had been approaching the boy at all or the wording itself but the boy flinched. Hard. He curled into himself, becoming even smaller than he already was to hide behind Dick.

Bruce couldn’t help himself— he reached out a bit but stopped dead in his tracks when the boy recoiled.

_ What had Bruce done?  _ It was hard to imagine anything causing such a strong reaction. At least anything he could live with.

“That’s Tim. Don’t take it personally. He’s a bit shocked by the news. After all, we had just found you, were finally awake and then…just... give it some time.”

Dick rubbed over Tim’s back coaxing the boy out from behind himself. Even if Tim never let go of Dick’s shirt and didn’t speak up. At least he didn’t hide from Bruce anymore.

“Father.”

  
  


He looked at the smallest of the children. The boy had sun-kissed skin, looking Arabic. Different from the paleness of Tim and a lot stronger than Dick’s tan. Even with all of them having dark hair they had to have either different mother’s or were not related. Adoption was a thing after all.

His position was even more upright than Alfred’s. Legs shoulder width apart, back straight, muscles tense. A defensive stance concealed to be causal. A position which would make it easy to strike. The wall at his back and all other occupants in the room in front of him.

His son was a soldier.

“My name is Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul. I’m your blood son. I demand you discontinue this foolish act right now. Whatever kind of test this is, Drake has clearly failed. No need to disrupt our routine anymore.” 

Bruce was helpless. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t will his memories to mysteriously return. No matter how much his kid wished for it.

“I-I’m sorry Damian. I can’t remember. I wish I could but there is nothing.”

He saw the kid’s lips tremble, after all, he was quite young. It was obvious he would be distressed after an announcement like that. Bruce was prepared for the tears which would be spilled soon.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the furious scream when the kid lunged forward ready to attack. He yanked his arms up to block the attack but it never came.

Dick had caught Damian and held him pressed close to his chest. The kid struggled in his arms, screaming, kicking and biting. Bruce could hear soft whispers and reassuring words coming from Dick. Damian suddenly went limp in his arms. There were no real tears but Bruce still saw him blinking rapidly before he pressed his head in Dick’s shoulder.

A sudden touch at his arm made his gaze snap away from the scene and he looked right at Tim. The teen had gotten away when Damian had gone wild and had moved closer to Bruce. Bruce carefully took Tim’s hand in his afraid the boy would run again but he sat down at the edge of the bed.

“That’s Cass.”

He pointed at a girl standing in the corner Bruce hadn’t noticed till this point. She smiled at him and gave a short wave. Like Damian, she screamed trained fighter. Bruce wondered again what he had done to his kids for them to become like this.

“There is also Master Jason. You will meet him soon enough. We would have liked to bring him with us but these days it is hard to get a hold of him.”

“Yeah, little Wing is kinda edgy but he will come around sooner or later. If he does don’t take to heart what he says, your relationship is kinda complicated. But he still loves you. No matter what he says.”

“Just, don’t mention him in front of others. Like Dick said it is complicated.”

_ Okay, what kind of family did he have? _ Fighters, Ex-military, and a boy no outsiders were supposed to know about.  _ Were they some kind of Mob family? _ Because it would make so much more sense then. It would explain why they called it the incident, instant of its proper name like a car crash.

Bruce was about to breach the topic in a hopefully not offending way when a nurse stepped in.

“Excuse me I must insist you leave now and give Mister Wayne a chance to rest  _ undisturbed _ .”

She sent a pointed look at Dick and Damian and Bruce was sure she had heard Damian’s tantrum and was not keen of having him startle the people in the rooms next door. 

There was not much protest. The stern look on the nurses face left no room for discussion and with how Dicks sigh it seemed like it wasn’t the first time they got kicked out because of the noise they caused. It would be foolish to get on bad terms with the people trying to help Bruce get better.

So Alfred started to shoo the people out of the room. Dick enclosed Bruce in a hug with Damian, still clinging to him sandwiched between them. He left with a sad smile and the promise to be back as soon as possible. Tim squeezed his hand again and left without a word, Cass moved over and touched his chest. He could feel the slight tremble in her hands through the hospital gown.

The last to leave was Alfred. The elderly man placed his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. He also had a soft smile on his lips like Dick. And like Dick, it didn’t belie the hurt laying underneath.

“Everything will work out Master Bruce. Rely on us and try to get better. We have made it through much worse before.”

When the door fell shut behind him Bruce was left in silence. Only him and his thoughts. And weren’t there many. All of them whirling through his head making it hard to even grasp them and laced with so many emotions. So many new sensations he had never experienced before. Or at least couldn’t remember experiencing before.

It was hard to calm down and bring order in the mess which was his head. He breathed. One intake after another, until things became clearer.

First of all, he had disliked seeing the kids in tears. Even the unshed ones. It was tightening his chest thinking back to the red skin around their eyes. The hopeful looks shining in them. Only to be replaced by dullness when they realized he didn't remember.

_ And wasn't it strange? _ To be in physical pain because he saw his kid suffer. To even dare to think of them as his. After all, he had only known them for a few minutes. Nothing in comparison to the life they must have spent with him. He had no memories of them, except for the display of heartbreak and misery.

No recollection of spent time together. Of birthdays, school events or even shared meals. No memories of ruffling their hair to praise them or of tugging them into sleep. Not even of soothing their tears after a nightmare. Simply said, they were strangers to him. Not even acquaintances. He knew as much of them as of any other person he meets on the street.

Despite all this. Despite how illogical and preposterous it seemed, he still cared for them. Not as much as they cared for him, obviously, but he still did. Not as much as a real father, but more than a stranger like him had any right to.

Because he cared like that he didn’t want to see them in sorrow anymore. Not even amnesia could temper down all his fatherly instinct.

It was obvious that if he went on like that, him not knowing who he had been, he would only cause them more misery. It would be even worse if he moved on and becoming a new person and started over.

No matter what they would always remember how he had been before. They would see glimpses of his old self, their father, in him. Only to be betrayed when he acted differently the next second.

So if he didn’t want to cause any more grief he couldn’t reestablish himself as someone new in their life. Leaving them was also not an option. They needed their father and going away wouldn’t lessen their sadness.

The best course of action was to gather everything he could find about his past self. He could act according to his findings. There was a great likelihood of his memories returning. He only had to keep up the performance until he was himself again. Depending on how convincing he acted it would look like he already regained his memories.

No matter how troublesome this was or how bothersome it might be Bruce would see it through. He would get it done so he didn’t see the tears on his children's faces anymore.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce returns to the monor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggle with dialog and it is the bane of my existence so I hope it is okay somehow. If there are times were the characters don't sound right or it sounds to forced feel free to call me out on it or give corrections on how I can write them better.
> 
> Thank you very much [crypt_mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt) for alpha and beta reading this chapter as well. Your support really helped my out a lot

As it turned out he was loaded. Truly loaded. Like billionaire loaded. Bruce let his gaze drift over the exterior of the manor stretched out before him. He couldn't believe that the building in front of him was his. Or that the long driveway the expensive car had taken was also part of his property

Bruce stood in front of the building with his mouth hanging open and looking like a total idiot. The driver pulled away in the car. Because yes apparently he also had a driver, of course.  _ Why would you want to drive your own fancy car with more extras than you could imagine? _

Bruce may be rich now but that didn’t mean he understood why wealthy people had to make things so complicated. Maybe he once did. Before...

A pointed cough from Alfred got him moving again and he stepped through the door the older man held open for him.

Inside it didn't get any less pretentious. The ceilings where high and he could make out some golden decor between the wooden beams. The paneling on the wall was made out of mahogany and overtook Bruce easily in height. The floor tiles had patterns and some of them were even out of marble. It was still early so the curved wall lamps weren’t turned on yet but there had to be some other hidden light fixture. Otherwise, the building would only be dimly lit.

Then it all became even more unreal. Alfred took his coat and placed it in a wardrobe. It's door fitted in perfectly with the rest of the wall paneling making it unnoticeable. It was a good way to hide the enormous amount of garments from spying eyes and make everything look even tidier. Not that the manor would need it, as tidy as it was already. The amount of cleanness made it seem unlived in. Like a mausoleum.

Either way, Bruce was intrigued and would explore the manor for more hidden secrets like this the first chance he got. Although he would have to wait until he got to take a look around on his own.

“Master Bruce, I will give you a tour so that you may find your way around.”

The ‘without getting lost’ was highly implied.

Being called Master still felt strange. The fact that Alfred knew him since childhood couldn’t be all behind it. There had to be something else. A reason why he was Master Bruce and not Mister Wayne. It was hard to say if it had been initiated by Alfred or Bruce but it must be a mutual and long-standing agreement. Otherwise, it wouldn’t come so naturally to Alfred.

It was still bizarre.  _ Hadn't the kids said Alfred was more like their Grandfather? Didn't that mean he was kind of Bruce's father in some way? Why didn’t he use Bruce's name? _

He followed Alfred set on making a mental map but it got harder to keep track after the reception room. There was too much unnecessary informations filling his head to concentrate on making a clear outlined floor plan.

There had been a literal fountain inside in front of the enormous staircases. And despite Bruce not caring where the potted plants lining the walls and pillars came from he knew. Although knowing which kind of exotic Asian bonsai they were exactly only distracted him further.

It only got worse the more he saw from the interior. When they passed a corridor with carpets hiding most of the tiles, the drumming in his head got even worse with his brain failing to progress everything. He was assaulted with knowledge about all the exhibition pieces which lined the wall in good style or were in the countless glass showcases.

Every step he took forward hurt. 

This was not a normal lingering side effect of the hit to the head he took and couldn’t be natural. This shouldn’t happen. He shouldn’t be crushed by all this information.

_ I need to tell Alfred. Ask for a break. _

But when he opened his mouth no sound came out. He just couldn’t get himself to ask. Because it was true. This was far from normal. And Bruce was supposed to only get better now that he was home. He just couldn’t go back to the hospital. He couldn’t stand the white and inaction there. He needed to stay here and find out more about himself.

So he gritted his teeth and stayed silences even if his head had started pounding relentlessly. He tried not to look at the things beside him in hope the flow of informations would stop but to no avail. Even without him looking he knew what was right beside him.

How ironic. 

He didn’t remember a damn useful thing about himself, his live or family. But he knew there was a armor, worn by Prince Leopold the second in 1267 two step at his left.

He could just hope his torture would end soon and he could gon lay down somewhere and try to organize all the new data.

_Why did they even need so many rooms?_ And so many different sets of armor, plants, paintings and so on. It was ridiculous. You could go all day without meeting anyone here. What also meant if Bruce got lost because he had no proper floor plan, thanks headache, no one would stumble over him by accident. He would have to wait until his absence was noticed at the next meal.

He saw a chance to save himself from such faith when they went into a study. There has to be something in here he could use to make some notes or draw a map. The walls were lined with books giving the whole thing the feeling of a library. Although Alfred had mentioned there was a real library in another wing at some point. Bruce had only listen half hearted concentrated on breathing to keep the pain under wrap. 

The desk was loaded with paperwork, folders, and files. Everything in neat piles exactly stacked on top of one another. Behind the desk chair was a huge window from where he could overlook the impressive garden. It sprawled to the point where the cultivated grass was replaced by a forest.

It was not a stiff office. There was a comfortable sofa facing the desk. He could almost imagine one of the boys sprawled there reading, while Bruce worked. There was also an old fashioned grandfather's clock between two bookcases.

He was almost tempted to start the computer with its big screen but it wouldn’t help his discomfort to have even more to look at. 

So he opened the drawer. Or better said, reached out before looking up to Alfred with a sheepish expression on his face.

“May I?”

Even with this being likely his study he couldn’t simply start rummaging through the desk.

Alfred looked shocked when he asked so politely for permission. It took the older man a moment till he had himself under control before he slowly nodded.

So apparently he wasn’t one to politely ask for approval. Or not to polite with his family in general. It had to be expected. A man with his recourses who could simply buy anything he desired wouldn’t be accustomed to asking.

After a quick search, he found what he had been looking for. A slim notebook, small enough to fit into his pocket but big enough to have enough space to write in. The paper had good quality and no ink would bleed through. The pen he found was metallic with his name engraved into it. A typical present. Something you bought when you didn’t know what else to get. 

But the pen was nice and laid well balanced in his hands. So not a thoughtless gift then. Someone had ensured it would be practical and to his liking. At least if you considered the wear on the utensil it must have gotten through regular use.

The first few pages were already filled with numbers and he only skimmed over them. He settled on a free page deliberately leaving a page empty between the old entries and this new one.

Bruce sketched the rooms they had visited so far while following Alfred. He was surprised how neat the drawing still looked despite him moving. Nothing artistic but accurate lines in perfect ratio mirroring their real live equivalent. Small samples, marked doors, showcases, and even the potted plants.

He could imagine he was some sort of architect. It would explain how he paid for the big estate. Or at least had some experience in that field.

His handwriting was small and effective. No flourish. it could almost pass as printed if it weren’t for the small imperfections in the thickness of the lines. He had signs as some form of short cuts for things. And he knew what every little sign he drew on the paper meant.

He glanced up at Alfred, nothing the butler would find odd if he catches Bruce doing so. Trying to hide you were staring at someone made it easier for the person to notice. The trick was to make it look natural like you had looked around and your eyes had found them by accident. 

Alfred didn’t turn around to look at him, too absorbed in explaining Wayne Manor's history to Bruce. A history Bruce put together himself by looking around without even meaning too. That was nothing a normal person could do, hence Alfred giving the lecture.

This gave him the chance to flip to the last page of the notebook quickly. If he wanted to find his old self he had to keep track of things as he found them out. After he had written all his findings done there were two and a half pages filled with his small words. It may look a bit extensive but it was better to be thorough. Small details like his immense medical knowledge could be useful later.

ANd to his surprise him getting absorbed into his writing gave him a break from his headache. He had just worked and everything else had faded into the background. 

Huh? That would come in handy in the future.

At this point they luckily finished the tour in the kitchen so Alfred could make a light snack. Although Bruce wasn’t hungry he still ate after Alfred sternly insisted for his health. Bruce was relieved about the small table in the kitchen. It would still be able to fit the whole family but without being excessively big. He had seen the table in the official dining room. If you wanted to communicate with the person on the other end of the table you would have to scream to be heard. It was way too stiff and formal for Bruce’s taste. 

Bruce spent the afternoon with his head laying on the cool wooden surface of the desk relaxing his tense muscles and watching Alfred’s dinner preparations out of half lidded eyes. He may seem calm on the outside but his mind was railing from the events of the morning. He really hoped with him taking everything in and letting all the information rolling of´ver him he would manage to wander the halls without agony.

“Master Bruce if you would please lift your head so I can set the table.”

Bruce was startled by Alfred’s voice right beside him and was already halfway out of the chair and moving to face the danger when he registered who it was. He hadn’t noticed the older man moving closer or the passing of time.

Bruce righten himself and tried to look less like an idiot before helping Alfred with the plates.

“Sooo, what do we have for dinner?”

Way to go. Bruce was truly the absolut king of indicating smalltalk. Although in this in this case it was more an interication for clues.

“We are having Mulligatawny soup with freshly baked bread and a simple rice pudding for dessert.”

At first this didn’t sound important and Alfred had no trouble answering such a simple question but Bruce didn’t have to be straight-out told something. He filled in the gaps. Read Alfred's body language and reactions. And the soft smile he directed at Bruce as he mentioned the soup left no question about this being one if not the favorite of Bruce.

And he couldn’t help the wide smile he sent back. Alfred had made sure to cook something he loves, or at least had loved as he came back home. And it felt warm to have someone caring for you this way.

“Are there any plans for after dinner?”

Or would Bruce have time to do some investigations around the house.

“Well usually fridays are family movie nights but with the recent development I don’t really know if the young Masters and Miss are up for it.”

That sounded nice. So they spend had some family rituals and spend time together on regular basis. He should find out about the progress of how the movie was selected, what snacks he consumed for the event and where in the room he was positioned and then continue the tradition.

“Good to see I have a normal family live. With the mansion and cars I feared I was one of the snobbish rich people types. How do I even pay for all this? Is it inherited? Or did I go from rags to riches”   
  


Alfred slightly stiffened at the first suggestion. Good, so he wasn’t schooled in hiding his reaction and Bruce’s plan would work. The answer was what Bruce had suspected with the mansion being in possession of the family since generations. But there had to be another way to generate money to keep the costs covered over time. Plus there had been files in his study and even with the short look at it they were official. Something a big company would use. And his suspicion got confirmed.

“But no matter how I got the money I hope I still work. Sitting at home all day doing nothing sounds so boring. It would be exciting to have lots of people to work with. Like a company or a law firm. Or maybe I’m even an artist or author. Someone with lots of fans”

A creative job was unrealistic but a shot in the complete wrong direction should help to hide his true intention. He had to just keep talking and sounding like an idiot. Don’t react to anything and just bring up suggestions.

“I just hope nobody misses me to much while I sit at home and enjoy my vocation. I would really hate to cause them trouble. Or is something standing in for me. Don’t say it is on of the kids. I would hate to bother Dick, Tim Cass or Damian with something like this.”

So Tim it is. He had originally only brought him up to name all the kids. Tim was way too young to lead a company but apparently there was special circumstances allowing him in a leading position despite being underage.

“Master Bruce, I’m sorry but I can’t tell you the…”

“...doctors told you not to say anything. I understands. I’m just so curious and my imagination got the better of me. Sorry Alfred I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Oh, look whos there.” 

Bruce turned completely to a tired looking Tim appearing in the doorframe with an empty mug in hand. No wonder the boy was tired with the responsibility he had on his shoulders. 

But all pity didn’t stop Bruce from stepping into his way when Tim made his way over to the coffeemaker. High doses of caffeine at that age especially shortly before night wasn’t healthy. So Bruce took the mug out of Tim’s slightly shaking hand and gave him a pad on the shoulder and had to fight to keep the smile on his face when Tim twitched.  _ Did he never casually touch his own kids in a friendly gesture? _

“Thanks for bringing this back. I will clean it while you sit down. The food is almost ready.”

Tim just stared after his mug and his fingers jerked in a grabbing motion but didn’t say a thing. Bruce felt really sorry for him now but it was for the best. He would get him something better after dinner. Maybe a hot chocolate or warm milk to help him sleep. 

After he had placed the mug on the dish rack and turned around Cass already sat on a chair and waved Tim down beside her. How she had managed to sneak in like that again like that Bruce really didn’t know. And just like in the hospital she didn’t speak a single word. That didn’t stop Bruce from smiling at her.

  
“Good evening Cassandra.”

She just looked at him for a few moments in return.

“Hey B.”

Dick didn’t return his smile when he sat down and Damian even outright scowled at him from the next chair while Alfred got the food on the table and filled the plates.

“How was your day, Dick?”

Dick had talked to him in the hospital so he seemed like the most approachable one.

“...okay.”

Or not. Dick didn’t have the energy anymore to act like anything was fine. He even avoided eye contact.

“And your day Tim?”

Just a shrug. He was even more reserved than Dick. This was harder than Bruce thought it would be. Maybe Damian would talk. At least didn’t stare at his food like the rest of the kids.

“How was school Damian?”

“Don’t act like you care imposter!”

_ Well, that was better than silence, right? _ At least the boy felt free to share his feelings with Bruce. He could work with this.

“DAMIAN!”. 

Dick tried to hush his little brother.

  
“How can you just accept this Grayson.  _ That _ is not father.”

Okay maybe talking wasn’t the best. Put points for making bruce’s pure existence sound like an insult. 

Bruce smile faded when Damian toppled over his chair and stormed out of the room. He was already on hi feet to follow him but got stopped by Dick pushing him back down only to draw his hand back instantly. He opened his mouth to say something but then just left wordlessly. 

When Bruce turned to Tim feeling his gaze at his back of his head as he stared after Dick the boy quickly avoided his eyes and started biting his lips again. The atmosphere was gloomy.

Bruce had expected their reaction would be bad but not that bad. But they’d been reminded their father lost all of his memories of them. They couldn't go on as if nothing had happened. They were young after all and depended on him.

Especially with Bruce being the only parental figure in their life except Alfred... Bruce knew he was alone. It was not only that no one had visited him in the hospital or welcomed him at the manor. There could have been other circumstances. Like a business trip preventing her or him from seeing him. He hadn’t found any hints of his orientation yet so he entertained both options. But there was no presence of a partner in the manor. The number of chairs fitted the family exactly. Extra ones were pushed to the side, coats and other clothes could be assigned to all of them based on their styles. When he asked he found out all the items he couldn’t place belonged to the child no longer coming over, Jason.

There was no space occupied by another person.

Bruce suffered through the rest of the awkward dinner. He felt bad for Alfred because the food was delicious so he told him exactly that and the older man smiled softly at that.

He really wished he could do anything to make it up to his children as well and help them but he would only make it worse at this point. He would have to give them some time before he could do anything.

Seeing them suffer like that was heartbreaking but he still tried to see some good in it. With him being free from everything in the past he could just concentrate on being a good parent. So Tim would stop flinching when he was touched, Cass would communicate in a way she was comfortable with, Damian would lash out less and Dick would laugh again. 

Because apparently his old self had been a complete scumbag who didn’t deserve such nice kids with how unused to love they were. But now Bruce could do better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce inspects his room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was gone for so long but now I'm finally back. 
> 
> This was again alpha and beta read by [crypt_mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt). Thank you so much for helping me out.

Bruce entered the bedroom Alfred had shown him this morning. Before he could start snooping around and get absorbed in his conclusions about his past live he still wanted to take a shower. A few relaxing minutes under hot water sounded heavenly after the disastrous meal he just had. 

Apparently, he wasn’t allowed to enjoy a peaceful hot shower.  _ Why were there so many buttons? _ There were no sign or other indicators what they did. Only stainless steel in strong contrast to the stone wall. He debated calling Alfred for a moment but didn't want to cause trouble. It was only operating a shower after all. How hard could it be? So he suffered his fate and started pressing randomly on the dashboard.

It was a very cold and fast shower.

The bed was so soft, almost sucking him in when he sat down and dried his hair. He found some comfortable sweatpants and an old baggy Gotham U shirt. They stood out between all the expensive dress- and polo shirts. The curtains of the room were thick, blacking anything out. So he either did sleep in a lot, or slept during the day when the sunlight would disturb him. But... Alfred had mentioned he would make Brunch tomorrow. So more likely he slept longer than sleeping in the afternoon.

His body must remembered the fact even if his mind didn’t. At least Bruce wasn’t the least bit tired even after spending the whole day up. He knew he wouldn’t find any sleep soon, so he could use his time wisely and look around.

He started with the desk; seemingly he also needed one in his bedroom. He sat down in the luxuriant chair— an exact copy of the one in the study and just as comfortable. There was no computer, but Bruce would be on the lookout for a laptop or tablet.

He took in the picture frames on the smooth surface. Pictures with him, Alfred and the kids. He even found a few which had to be Jason but the pictures were already a few years old. The boy would look quite different now.

Then he took the last picture in his hands. At first, he had thought it was Damian but the boys skin color was much lighter, the eyes blue. Must be an old child picture of Bruce himself then. Damian had said something about being his ‘blood son’ and he really looked a lot like Bruce when he was a kid. The two adults placing their hands on the kids shoulders must be his parents then. They looked similar, he could see where he got his facial features from. All of them smiled and seemed happy. 

A perfect family.

Not any longer, it was obvious. Just like there was no trace of a partner in the manor, there was none of his parents, either. They didn’t move elsewhere. Alfred would have informed him. They would have come over or called.There had been no mention and all the other portraits of them they had passed on the tour had been quite old as well.

He entertained the possibility they had fought and they were well only not speaking with him. After all, in families with money like this involved, it happened quite frequently. Then, though, Bruce wouldn’t have ended up with the family compound. He would have moved to something else in the city more suitable for him. There pictures and other memorabilia would have been removed and not just ignored.

They had to be dead. Gone far before their time. An accident or tragedy was more likely than illness. After all, an illness would have had a chance of infecting Bruce as well. Both of them having something non-contagious, vanishing from pictures at the same time, was statistically implausible. 

He would have to look some more into it to find out what exactly happened. Whatever he found, it wouldn’t be happy. After all, he was still quite young in the picture.

He continued his search. All the files on the table were of the company’s taxes and he would need more than a single night to make sense of them.

Bruce continued with his bedside drawers on the side where the mattress was less laid on. He opened the topmost one and froze. Placed inside on some satin cloth he found some condoms, lube and even handcuffs.

Somehow with no partner in the picture, he hadn’t thought there would be activities like this. But it made sense that even without a steady relationship his old self had  _ someone  _ for certain activities.

Or at least that was what it was supposed to look like. When he examined the tube he found it unopened but already relatively close to the termination date. Same for the condoms. Close to expiring and all of them still there. The closing mechanism on the cuffs were stiff and therefore not often used.

Why he kept something like this so close to the bed and easy to reach was an enigma. Especially with him clearly not using them at all and letting them go to waste.  _ Why keep up the appearance of an active sex life and more important to whom?  _

He put all the stuff back into the drawer and went into the bathroom washing his hands, even if he was sure nothing of it was used. He felt more comfortable that way. For now he would just leave it as it was. He had other priorities like his family, his company and why he seemed to keep so many secrets.

In the other drawers, he found all kinds of things. Sleeping pills, muscle relaxants, and painkillers. Whatever lifestyle he lived it must have been prone to injuries. There was a copy of  _ The Art of War _ in Chinese... something he wouldn’t expect to be a good read before going to sleep. Or that he would have expected to be able to read at all, but when he opened the first page the words just...made sense to him.

There were tissues, chargers for various electronic devices, pens, and a empty notepad That reminded him of the notebook he had brought from the study. Numbers, meeting schedules, short drafts for contracts and notes about people. Everything business related. His old self had been quite invested in the company, taking note of everything. Apparently, Tim was working in the company together with a Fox. Bruce felt bad for leaving everything to them for now. After all he must have left a huge workload. At least all the meetings and deadlines suggested as much.

The more he found out about his old self the more he thought he could do this. Acting like himself again. He must have been smart. His medicinal and historical knowledge, book taste and company involvement spoke for it. There was also the way his mind connected facts.

He had a lovely family he could come to love again when they spent more time together. He didn't like the stiff and big rooms, but his older self had already made renovations to make it a bit homier. Reusing the original breakfast room as their dining room now. The morning room as a comfortable den with a big flat screen and sofas.

Content with what he had found today he tucked himself in and tried to get some sleep.

  
  
  


_ At first there was music, soft violines a piano as he stood in a hall with red carpet. Suddenly a drum thundered, louder and louder and he ran. Just faster and faster trying to get away but not getting any closer to the door.The break between beats just got shorter and shorter. Thump, thump thumpthumpthump. When the beat finally became a long never  _

_ ending sound he stumbled out of the door the noise being silenced by the shutting of the door. When he lifted his face it was dark. The dim light of a flickering street lamp illuminated garbage laying in the alley beside overthrown dumpsters.  _

_ He staggered forward until he saw two silhouettes. He reached out to them.  _

_ BAM! _

_ The thud of a body hitting the ground. _

_ The pattern of pearls on the pavement. _

_ Another thud. _

_ Red. _

_ Wide familiar eyes staring at him. _

_ A scream. _

  
  
  


Bruce woke with the scream dying on his lips. His heart was beating fast in his chest, his limbs trembling. He looked around the unfamiliar room, pressing closer to the headboard in panic, trying to get his breathing under control and not pass out from lack of oxygen.

_ Where was he? Why didn’t he recognize this place? _

Then it hit him. Bruce took a startled breath, his pulse calmed. He was not in danger. It had taken some seconds to recognize the room because he had lost his memories and only gotten to the manor a few hours ago.

He was safe. It had only been a dream. Or more likely memories. Something he couldn’t quite remember but also not completely forget.The bad taste it left in his mouth made him think maybe it would be better if it just stayed lost. He couldn’t exactly tell what had happened everything had been too fuzzy, but he knew the feeling. The utter terror in his chest which had frozen him in place. The fear making him break out in a cold sweat.

He tugged at the shirt sticking to his skin. It was totally soaked. 

Bruce got out of bed on unsteady knees and stumbled in the bathroom. This time the shower was warm. Hot. Almost burning and leaving his skin red... but that was better. He couldn’t have stomached a cold shower. Not with the freezing panic still bubbling in his chest.

He didn’t feel like wandering the hallways to find the kitchen, still too unsteady on his feet. He took up the book in the hope it would draw his attention away from the nightmare but only managed to read a few pages of it, couldn't really get into it. His headache distracted him. His mind wandered and returned to the fragments of the memories he had seen.

He put the book back only to notice his nails scraping over a slight crack in the otherwise smooth wood. It took some trying and a bit of roughness but he got the false bottom out of it.

And sure— why not install a hidden compart in your own room where normally you shouldn’t have to hide things. The strange secrets only kept on increasing. He expected a diary or something else sensitive like that, but he found a tablet. There was only one way to find out why he had made sure to hide it away so well.

The tablet would be rather useful if he managed to unlock it. He hadn’t been given a phone with him being in the manor with the rest of the family. It was to avoid someone calling him and triggering some memories by accident. To protect him from the backlash of being forced to remember something. Not that he didn’t do a good job of triggering something like this by himself through pure deduction. So it was already too lat. Now he wanted to know who he was. Not sit around and wait.

He was lucky the pad was secured with fingerprint and iris recognition. A password would have been forgotten. It was still a bit extensive.  _ Why would he protect it like that? _ Hopefully, it was not something useless like porn he didn’t want his kids to find.

Luckily it was not porn. Only more company data, blueprints of projects. There were other secretive files he couldn't place. Drawings of complicated looking machines, car engines and a hook on a line. Another sign proving his understanding of the complicated.

He searched some more and found the components of chemicals. Counter chemicals wrote in his own handwriting next to it. There was a digital version of an encyclopedia of plants with parts underlined as well. He scribbled his finding into his notebook.

A bit curious about the public presence he opened his browser and tipped Bruce Wayne. He was rich so there had to be at least something. If not he could at least check out the website of the company and find out more about Fox.

He had underestimated how well known he was. There were 114.000.000 results in under a second. _ What had he done to gain so much popularity? _

He skipped around and found weird hashtags and trends like ‘but do the butts match’ connected to his name. There were the usual people hungering after his body like it was common for celebrities. Others were getting heated in discussions about who would be a perfect match for him. The usual internet content.

He tried to find a bit more reliable source than social media and ended at the archive of a newspaper called the Gotham Gazette, a local newspaper.

**Bruce Wayne another night out. Property damage of $214.032**

Accomplishing this article was a picture of him. It showed him clearly hung over sitting in a completely trashed club. Some barely dressed women still sleeping on a coach which was not made to be placed in the middle of the room. The sound system was in pieces on the floor, the wall smeared with god knew what.

Bruce didn’t read deeper into the article how it came to this situation and what exactly he had done. The picture was telling enough.

**Bruce Wayne leaving the hotel with a married actress. New love affair?**

Bruce didn’t even open the article. He rather switched to a different newspaper in the hope to see something besides the gossip.

**Wayne crashing Porsche 959. Car totaled, billionaire uninjured.**

It was the same as the Gazette.

His search on Video platform brought up nothing new. Fashion analyses and him taking selfies with fans were more pleasant results. There were also videos, which madehim duck his head in shame. Even though he had no relation to the self he was before the memory loss.

**Gotham's Prince drunken speech.**

The video was what you would expect, ending with him falling from the stage.

**Wayne crashing charity gala.**

The crash was meant literally. He ripped down the curtain of the stage burying himself and five more people underneath.

The list went on... but Bruce soon lost all interest in finding out more about himself. Each article was worse than the last.

Bruce couldn't understand.  _ Why would he do things like these? How could he act so stupid and by such a nuisance to the city? _ That many people found it funny or entertaining didn’t make it better. The fact that people wronged by him like the ones being dashed with champagne didn’t mind, didn’t help either. It was like he was an endearing clumsy puppy no one got angry at but no one could take seriously either.

From all this, he could only conclude his older self was a playboy switching women like underwear. Having a new supermodel every other week. A man getting totally wrecked and drunk on a regular basis. Buying expensive cars and other luxuries only to trash them later. He was so stupid. God, he sat through an interview session where Brucie, as he was dubbed, wasn’t drunk. Bruce could feel his brain cells dying with every word the man spoke.

Only cars, fashion, women, and sport. All of it so overdramatic represented as if the world depended on the outcome of the last  _ Gotham Knights game _ .

Although Brucie was very charming making the moderator and the audience laugh. All of his past flings still held him in high regards. At least that was what they told in interviews Bruce found. They could have been paid but they had all only expected a one night stand and Brucie had delivered exactly that. They were happy to have their career pushed or a fancy evening. None of them had cared for him. Not at all.

It would have been so easy to assume that this was who he had been before. A charming but stupid celebrity no one except his family cared about. But he didn’t want to accept that. This wasn’t compatible with him now, smart, sharp and a burning thirst for knowledge.

_ Maybe a trauma in the past which had caused issues or mental instability?  _ The nightmare had hinted at something major happening. The loss of these memories could have reset the progress. This would mean he would go back to his old playboy self when he remembered everything.

It was a possible solution and Bruce could have left it at tha but there had to be more. It would explain the intellectual gap and different behavior. But there were other things not fitting the picture. Like the copy of  _ The Art of War _ . The recent company document with his notes on them and his full calendar with meetings. The deep research in the chemical and biological field on his tablet. All of this was something Brucie wouldn’t need. 

_ So why did he have it? _

Apparently Brucie had the same mental capacity as him, but for whatever reason he didn’t show it to the outside. Instead he acted in the most diverting ways possible. It was to much of an elaborate scheme to only be in place to score more contracts with other companies. There had to be a deeper reason. And Bruce would find out why.

Until he had his answer, he would have to continue the charade before destroying something important. He didn’t dare ask the family. If the act was something in order to protect them, he couldn't risk dropping it.

Even if he hated the person he had to be in the process.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce adapts to his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thank you at [crypt_mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror) and [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/pseuds/Holdt) for alpha and beta reading.

Bruce tried to adapt to his new-old life the best way he could. He spent his time in the manor talking to people and gathering more and more intel. When he was alone where no one could get suspicious he did his research. He had no other choice. The family did their best to keep him away from all the media mentioning him. They switched the TV program when an old interview came up. They turned off the radio when Wayne Enterprise was mentioned. There were pages of the newspapers missing. That couldn’t stop Bruce.

He knew Bruce shown to the public had been charming, lighting up the whole room when he entered. He had been funny and easy going and had smiled a lot. He had supposedly gone on family vacations a lot. Was involved in countless sports accidents. It was the public explanation for all the scars littering Bruce’s body. 

It was a lie. Bruce knew how the flesh knitted together and scared after a bullet had been hastily removed. Especially if the wound hadn’t gotten proper time to heal. And he could estimate just how fresh this wound must have been. Not longer than a year at most.

The realization of what he must have gone through hit him hard. It was another reason to do his best to keep the kids and Alfred out of this part of his life as good as he could.

That no one was allowed to know what laid underneath facade didn’t stop him from trying to help. He started to work through his WE notes and catch up on regent business. He created false employer profiles and emails. Sent his work up through different people to lessen the burden Tim would have to carry. He had to spread everything out thin. No one could notice who was behind it or even suspect something out of the ordinary. It was part of the long game Bruce was playing.

He spent most days at home with Damian and Alfred. They tried to give him time to heal and regain his memories normally. He was only asked to put his signature on some documents in the office from time to time. 

From time to time they had to let him go into Wayne Enterprises as some decisions could only be made with the CEO present. Not that it really mattered that he was there with him leaving everything to the ones he trusted even before the incident at least in appearance. So he found himself in meetings where the other participants thought he didn’t understand a single word. He didn’t persuade them otherwise and kept himself busy with doodling on paper. It was a must with their discussions going in endless circles when Bruce could have solved the problems in half an hour all on his own. He started sending emails with hints afterward leaving the people to come to the right conclusion themself and forgetting about the person tipping them of. The only big win in his book was they always got him snacks like muffins to keep him entertained.

The smile Brucie always wore didn’t come as naturally to him as it should have. When Bruce did manage a bright smile which reached his eyes it was always directed at his kids or Alfred. He started practicing. Studied in every free minute. Not only the smile, but everything else he could think of being useful later. He watched old videos of himself, interviews, gala speeches or social events. He copied it. Tried to get it right and took notes of how old Bruce would react, what old Bruce knew and where his limits laid.

This didn’t leave him as much time as he wished to have to spend on the things he was interested in. Mostly his kids lives, especially Jason. He couldn’t gather information through interactions about him at all so he returned to the internet once more.

Bruce was shocked by his findings. Jason had been his second son. Jason died in Ethiopia while they were on vacation. All of it lined up. The police and autopsy report, the open casket funeral and the death certificate. Bruce could believe this was the truth. That this was what had actually happened. That he had failed his son. that he had been a miserable father who had to bury his son before he himself went under the ground.

But Damian had referenced ‘Todd’ being a nuisance just last week. He shouldn’t have had the chance to meet Jason if the date of death was right. Dick reported Jason turning down family dinner as he always did. Some of the clothes the other kids had stolen from Jason was almost Bruce’s size.

Jason could not be dead, even with the detailed paper trail left. So something else was going on. Something his family must knew of. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have mentioned keeping silent about Jason in the hospital.

And it made him question if hiding the spiel was the right decision or if he should just reveal to them what he already knew. But something stopped him.

For some reason, Jason had faked his own death.  _ Had been forced to do so, why else would he have done so otherwise?  _ Everyone believing you were gone and having to keep a low profile at all cost couldn’t be fun. If Bruce had to guess he would say it was all connected with each other. His injuries, the incident costing his memories and why he had to act stupid before. Something dangerous was happening and he needed to find out what exactly.

And if Jason had already been involved and suffered for it he had to keep the rest of the family out of it before he acted. 

He wouldn’t be hasty and risk someone finding out about him playing a different personality. So he stepped up his game and smiled more, acted more carefree and relaxed. He got totally lost in the mask which was Brucie Wayne.

His effort was rewarded by his family starting to smile back at him and becoming more carefree as well. It was kind of scary to see how much influence his charade had on other people. Bruce could see why his old self had built up such a personality over the past years. It was not a shield to protect as he had first suspected. If used right, this personality could be turned into a dangerous weapon. 

Even cool, collected Alfred got swept up by Brucie’s force of charisma. He placed his hand softly on Bruce's shoulder and looked at him with fondness. 

“I'm so glad to see you happy again, Master Bruce. It has been a long time since I saw the young Masters and Misses in such good moods as well. It is all thanks to you.”

“Except Damian.”

Bruce couldn’t help a sigh and stole a glance at the boy sitting with Titus on the living room floor. He had tried. Had used all his knowledge about the boy and his interests. Had gone to the art museum with him and went on walks with Titus and him, but nothing he did could make the boy smile. He sneered at Bruce instead, from time to time. 

Bruce knew the boy didn’t smile often by nature, but he had seen him smile  _ before _ . Always at Dick or when Tim stumbled in the morning and only when Damian didn’t think anyone else was around to notice.

Bruce would have liked to pin his failure with Damian on the young boy's age. Children had more difficulty accepting change. 

But he knew it was something else. It was the military-style training he had noticed in the hospital and the steps which made no sounds, the figure hiding in the shadows, the wooden sword used like an extra limb and the sharpness of the mind.

Whatever had forced Damian to become a survivor was what kept Bruce from bonding with him. It was driving Bruce to his wits end. He had tried every friendly approach he could think of. He couldn’t join Damian in his training of the sword— not without letting on there was more behind himself. He also couldn’t call the boy out on his behavior without giving up his game.

He was in a deathlock for now.

At least until he sneaked out of his room in the early hours before dawn. 

Bruce had read up on Jason again and was in much need of some fresh water or even better, a hot tea. It would help him get at least a short nap in before breakfast. He moved as quietly as he had, or rather,  _ hadn’t seen _ Damian do before. He stuck to the darkness, not bothering with the lights. His body navigating through the long hallways on autopilot.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks when he heard whispers. Softly he moved closer, being even more careful than usual to not alter whoever else was around. He stopped at a closed door with light shining through under it. He leaned against the wall and listened.

“...could you allow this, Grayson? This is disgraceful. Father would never—”

“Little D, please. It is better this way. He’s happy. Safe. Just give it some more time. You’ll get used to it He is still your father. We want him to be happy, don't we? Even if it means we will never get the old Bruce back.”

Dick was almost begging at this point. Damian answered him with an angry hum, but he also didn’t disagree.

Bruce had miscalculated. He had played his role too well. Too perfectly. So perfectly Damian had noticed. If Dick also knew, then the rest of the household must have some sort of suspicion as well. 

As far as Bruce could tell his secret wasn’t out yet. They knew he was different than before, but mostly put it on his amnesia.

Dick insisting on Bruce’s safety also confirmed his suspicions. Dick know something of what exactly was going on. They knew what Bruce was protecting them from. They didn’t yet know he was actively trying to keep them safe right now. So even though it broke Bruce’s heart to betray his kid’s like that he had to continue to play the clueless billionaire— even if he wished he could give them back their father. 

It was better this way.

He would keep them safe no matter what. Even if Damian didn’t like the situation. Even if Dick hated to see him like this. At least they were still alive. Legally and otherwise. He had already lost one son; he wouldn’t risk another. 

Not for the selfish reason of wanting to see Damian's smile directed at him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is at a gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [Kira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_Katashi) for beta reading this and stopping coaches from running around in the foyer.

It was so hot. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he quickly wiped it away with the already reused handkerchief from his pocket. Scratch that, hot didn’t describe it, he was boiling from the inside. The air was stale and stuffed and made it even harder to breath and Bruce felt like he was choking. His fingers clawed at the bowtie around his neck trying to get some room but only managed to strain the back of his neck. 

He had given up on trying to fan himself an hour ago. It didn’t really help - it was even more unbearable when he stopped; every little movement in his suit making it worse. If he hadn’t worn so many dark black layers everyone could have seen the sweet soaking through the clothes, making them stick to his bare skin.

God, he really wished he could just take everything of, drink a whole bottle of cold water and fall into a swimming pool. Instead he only got the small champagne flutes which he had to empty in the first potted plant he saw to not get too drunk. A minimal alcohol level was necessary if he wanted to make it through this without strangeling the next person daring to harass him with their pure stupidity.

“O~oh Bru~cie.”

Bruce suppressed a sigh as he straightened up, adjusted his bowtie and jacket and forced a polite smile back onto his face. His cheek already hurt like hell from all the fake smiles and pretended laughing he had to do all evening and gradually he believed it would be permanently stuck to his face.

As he turned around he was confronted with a lady which was easily twice his age, but wore revealing clothes more fitting on a high school prom. The thick layers of makeup on her face were crumbling and smearing and it just looked disgusting.

And the perfume! The sweet artificial scent made Bruce’s stomach twist and he was lucky he hadn’t eaten before this although, now he was hungry. 

  
“There you are, my dear. I was already wondering were you had wandered of to.”

She grabbed his arm, pressing close and rubbing against him; the scent getting stronger and her high pitched voice even louder. Ah, hello headache my old friend.   
  
“Oh just looking around, talking to the ladies. Although, I could never forget the most beautiful of them all.”

_Could he go throw up in the corner now? No?_ _Okay, later then_.

“Oh my, what a charmer.”

Her ear piercing giggle made him flinch and he quickly disguised it as reaching for two flutes. She took one and just chunked the whole thing down in one go.   
  
“This is a fabulous party, my dear. You exceeded all expectations. The location in the middle of the city is really an outstanding touch, although past events in your home have never left anything to be desired either.”

Well he just didn’t want to have any of this snops near his home. No, it was better like this when he could - hopefully soon - just leave and be done with them.   
  
“Ah you know, I just wanted to do something new for a change. And it’s a lot closer to the reason of party than the manor.”

“If you say so. I already made a donation for whatever nobel cause you may have now. You know best what to do with it.” 

With this, she placed a slobbery kiss on his cheek, leaving behind makeup and lipstick, and finally went away. Bruce had to grit his teeth for how little attention the guest payed to the charity this event was collecting money for. If it hadn’t been for the orphans, Bruce wouldn’t have bothered to show up or even organize it in his condition. But he had overheard his kids debating if this year the Martha Wayne foundation wouldn’t get a charity ball and he just had to make it happen. Like this, even Brucie could be useful. However no one really cared about it.

His kids on the other hand really put great effort into this, holding most of the attention; making it easier for Bruce and getting more people to donate. Now that he had greeted most people and the party was in full swing, Bruce wasn’t really needed anymore.

Just like for the orphans no one really cared about Brucie. They smothered up to him for the reputation it brought them but there hadn’t really been a single meaningful conversation. In some ways it made him sad - sure this wasn’t who he really was, but that no one paid enough attention to even try and see if there was something behind the laughter and smiles hurt surprisingly much.

“Eh-hem. E-excuse me? Mister Wayne? C-Could I get a moment of your time.”

He turned around, already resigned to having another rich prick snuggling up to him or a reporter wanting to get something embarrassing about him. So, it was understandable when his smile slightly cracked before he got it back in place when he saw a man standing before him, sticking out like a guinea pig in a hamster cage.

His plaid shirt was way to big and clashed horrible with his suit jacket, the big glasses hid most of his face; his hair was a mess looking, like he just stepped out of a storm. There was a slouch in his back. The way he always looked away after making eye contact and the nervous twist of his pen and notebook made him look out of place.

“M-my name ist Clark. Kent. Clark Kent. I’m a reporter of the Daily Planet. C-could I ask some questions? Please. It’ll be quick.”   
  


The men hastily held his hands out and dropped his notepad in the progress.

Well, Bruce would have to speak to some sort of news outlet at some point this evening before he could go and this reporter seemed to take his job serious and had some basic manners. He was the best option Bruce would get - even if he was a tat bit clumsy.

Bruce leaned down in a smooth motion and picked up the notepad before shaking the offered hand with a bright smile, which was a lot more natural than the others he had given tonight. He couldn’t help a teasing wink as he spoke.

“Sure Mister Kent, it would be my pleasure. Let’s just go somewhere quieter. I think I saw some couches in the foyer.”    
  


He noticed the bright blush on Kent’s face after his words - seemingly even a reporter from Metropolis knew of Brucie’s reputation for sleeping around during parties. Not that Bruce really planed to do so. In some way he was using the man, but getting out of this room and away from the obnoxious chattering was something he desperately wished for.

“Mi-mister Wayne. Tha-that is inappropriate. I-I can’t-”

“-don’t you want this back?”

Bruce had started walking and only smirked over his shoulder waving the notepad around, and noticed relieved that Kent started stumbling after him. Bruce had judged him right and the man really valued his possessions enough to follow a billionaire playboy even if he felt uncomfortable doing so. Not wanting to overdo it, he moved straight to the foyer were there really were couches, half hidden behind potted plants.

He fell onto the seat that was the most hidden while still facing the main door and the door to the ballroom. The notepad got placed on the small coffee table in front of him where Kent snatched it up quickly as he sat down besides Bruce. The poor man sat on the edge of the seat and looked at Bruce with some sort of distrust but when Bruce did not pay any attention to him he loosened his bowtie and undid a few of his buttons as he calmed down.

  
“It gets really warm in there, doesn’t it.”

“You tell me. Fancy locations like this should have a better air condition system.”

Kent spoke with a slight chuckle, coaxing a real smile from Bruce. Damn, this reporter was likeable. Sure, he screamed country-bumpkin but compared to all the others - this was almost nice. Bruce could totally see himself being friends with him and enjoyed it. To bad that there was no way that could happen. First and foremost, he didn’t have time to waste on friends which wouldn’t contribute to solving the mystery of Bruce, Jason’s death or his family. Secondly this man was dangerous: he slipped right under all of Bruce’s radars and got him to drop his guard within a few minutes. If he were to spend an extensive amount of time in his presence, he would not be able to hide his true self.

“So this is the annual gala of the Wayne foundation which primary objective is to rise money to support orphanages around Gotham. Could you tell us more about the charity?”

“I avidly support multiple charities but the Martha Wayne foundation still means the most to me. It was not only named after my mother but was also brought to life by her. So, by continuing to support the organisation I feel like I’m connected to her and keep her legacy alive. But it is not only that, it is also because this fondation is focused on children which suffered to similar fates as mine, losing their parents way to early. I was lucky enough to have Alfred who loved and raised me. So this is a way to make sure other kids also get an as normal as possible childhood.”

“Many of your kids are adopted and came out of the system. What would you want to tell people still undecided about adoption?”

“I would tell them to do it. My kids are the best thing that ever happened in my life. Since Dick moved in with me everything got so much brighter. All these kids out there need homes and I get the concern that many think, that it would be harder to raise someone with no blood connection - and sure there are hard times - but it’s just like this with any child, matching DNA or not. There is nothing more fulfilling. When I was first called Dad I couldn’t stop crying - I was just so happy.”

He felt like he said a bit to much and wasn’t flirtirous enough for Brucie but he was exhausted. Keeping the act up all evening had drained him and he just didn’t felt like playing games with Kent anyway. Dangerous indeed.

“Thank you very much Mister Wayne for your time and have a nice evening.”

With another shy smile from Kent and a quick handshake the reporter stood up and moved back inside the ballroom. Bruce waited another moment and was just about to follow when he thought about what exactly would happen if he just didn’t. The answer was nothing, as long as he was back on time to catch a ride with Alfred and the kids. And this was probably the only time in quite a long while where he would get a chance to go into the city unsupervised. 

In the end, the high pitched laughter hearable when Kent slipped back in made the decision for him. For now, his headache had subdued and he felt like he could finally breathe again; he had no wish on getting back in there.

He moved into the other direction and ended up in the elevator which would get him to the garage. Getting rid of the bowtie, jacket and west was a good feeling. He left them in the car as he sneaked out through the supplier access so the dozens of photographers and reporters camping in front of the building wouldn’t see him running around with his sweat soaked shirt in the warm summer night.


End file.
